


hand in unlovable hand

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Other, the enemies of your enemy are your worse enemies, when you're in love with your enemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: Retribution comes in strange forms.
Relationships: Gable/Travis Matagot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	hand in unlovable hand

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays to the uwuru! this one's for the occupants of the angst channel, and especially finchflame for the god tier concept and title idea <3 
> 
> title from no children by the mountain goats!

Gable knows the shape of their end. They’ve dreamt it too many times, felt the weight of a thousand eyes staring them down. No one escapes forever, and there’s no such thing as a perfect crime. One day the handful of angels that remained loyal to a dying god _will_ find them. 

And that’ll be it. The end of a story that they barely remember the beginnings of. 

— 

They’re walking through the market of this new town when it happens, with Travis by their side and a long shopping list from Spit. Officially, corsairs can’t moor at this port, but they needed supplies badly enough that gold changed hands and the Uhuru made it in— but the truce is uneasy. Time is of the essence. 

“ —Spit could have done this,” Travis is complaining. It’s colder here than either of them are used to, and he has his coat pulled tight. He takes the shopping list from Gable’s hand and studies Spit’s scrawl. “I don’t know what half of this is supposed to mean.” 

“You’re the quartermaster, it’s your job,” Gable shoots back absently, as they push through the market. “You should have written the list in the first place.” 

“Do I look like a man who has time for writing lists?” Travis says, shoving it back into their hands. 

“You look like a—” Gable says, then freezes. 

Someone’s watching them. Really _watching,_ not what most mortals manage. It fizzles across their skin, makes the ethereal skeletons of their wings twitch.

“Yes?” Travis says, turning back to give them a quizzical look. “I look like a…?” 

They ignore him, and take a deep breath, reaching for their magic. Normally, when they try this, they feel the threads that pull them towards evil. This time there’s nothing, for a long moment, and then there’s just— 

It’s all just eyes. 

They flinch instinctively, letting the magic drop away, opening their eyes and looking across the square. 

They see the other angel at once. Now they’ve noticed it, it is unmissable— it’s mortal form seems uncomfortable on it, badly fitting. Too much fire in the eyes. The chorus of accusations rings in Gable’s head— _betrayer, murderer, god slayer, world ender._

They drop the shopping list and start running, shoving between people and leaping over stalls. From behind them, they hear Travis shout, but they don’t have _time._ They throw themselves towards this silvery avenger, this bringer of divine justice. Gable knows they have been seen. Seen, and judged. 

They also know that no one is spared from an angel’s judgement. They know it only too well, and their head is filled with fire and the knowledge that the rest of the Uhuru crew are in this town. This is what Gable’s end looks like, but it can’t be the end of the others. They won’t let it be.

The other angel stops suddenly, and turns on its heel, scraping on the cobbles. It’s the awkward movement of someone not used to the sensation of bodies, but the angel doesn’t pause in drawing its sword. It brings it downwards in a cold gesture, and before Gable can do anything to stop it, it’s driven into the ground, hard. Fire spills out, rippling across the market, throwing people and carts and stalls away indiscriminately. 

The single thing that it doesn’t touch is Gable. They’re left standing six paces away from the other angel, surrounded by blackened, smoking cobbles. Distantly, they can hear screaming, but it’s drowned out by the ringing in their ears. 

“Uriel,” the other angel says pleasantly, smiling widely. “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” 

“What the fuck did you just call me,” Gable snarls, and they draw their sword. The last thing they think before they fall into their rage is _I’m sorry._

— 

Travis stumbles through the panicking crowds. People knock into him, and the air is thick with smoke. He struggles for breath and heads in the direction of the explosion as best as he can. 

When he bursts out into the circle of smoking cobblestones, he can’t help freezing in pure terror. He’s heard the stories of angels in their true forms, of course, and he knows perhaps better than anyone else living what the flames of retribution look like. He’s known Gable a long time, he’s had practice. Now though, as he catches glimpses of this battle through the smoke, he realises there’s a difference between Gable, gentle and loyal and _fallen_ Gable, and whatever this other creature is. It makes him feel sick to watch. 

“Gable!” he shouts. Their eyes are black, and their sword is on fire, but they’re staggering, flames dripping slowly from gashes on their chest. Flame outlines the ghost of wings they no longer have, and they don’t react to his presence. The other angel doesn’t either, just continues to push it’s advantage on Gable. 

Right. Of course. He’s just a mortal, when you get down to it. These are not earthly creatures that he’s witnessing, why would they care one way or another for him? 

Except, except. This is Gable. For the second time in his life, he’s watching the divine cleanse the world of sinners. There’s no doubt what this is about. He knows what Gable did. 

He knows so many things Gable’s done. 

The other angel swarms forward, and Gable raises their sword above their head but it’s not enough. They stagger back and hit the cobbles, hard enough that Travis can hear something crack. Their sword clatters on the stone and they make a tiny, scared noise, closing their eyes. Accepting their fate.

Travis decides enough is enough. He forces himself to move, striding out until he’s between Gable and the other angel. He draws his gun, and yells “Hey!” 

It takes a long, long moment for the angel to look at him, but when they do, his head is suddenly filled with noise. It’s a jumble of voices, angry and bitter, and for a horrible moment he’s eight years old again and cowering under his father’s shouting. Then he picks up the words— _Godkiller. Traitor. World destroyer, selfish child, thousands died because of your inability to be the thing you were supposed to be, you deserve to die for your sins, the only way you will ever find peace is if you die for your sins—_

He fires his gun into the horrifying form of the angel, once, twice. It blinks all it’s eyes at him, slowly. “And what are you?” it rasps. 

Every prey instinct in him is screaming at him to run, to hide, to do _anything_ to escape these horrible, angry eyes. But then Gable makes another quiet, involuntary noise of pain from behind him, and he stands his ground. “I could ask the same of you,” he says, and he’s relieved to hear that his voice barely shakes.

The angel cocks its head. He knows with a bone deep certainty that the only reason he hasn’t been killed yet is because it is intrigued. The screaming tirade in his head lessens, and Gable breathes out— he realises they can hear it too. They can hear how the fury turns to curiosity, and then something like amusement. “Oh, little mortal,” it says. “You are playing with things you do not understand. This is a judgement, long overdue.” 

“Oh, I understand,” Travis says bitterly. His hands are steady on his gun. “I understand exactly—” 

“Run,” Gable pleads, their voice breaking. Travis doesn’t turn to look at them, doesn’t take his eyes off this creature. 

“Shall I tell you?” it says cruelly. “Shall I tell you just what Uriel did? All the pain they caused, every life they ruined, every blasphemy they’ve committed. It haunts their every moment, but they can only dream of the extent of the sins they've committed. I know them. I know every single one. Shall I sing them to you?” 

“Stop,” Gable whispers. “Travis, tell Jonnit I’m sorry, don’t—” 

Travis turns away from the other angel at last, and glances towards Gable. They’re slumped over on the ground, and they look up at him pleadingly. He doesn’t let anything show on his face as he bends down and picks up their sword off the ground. 

“It’ll burn you—” Gable warns, and Travis braces himself for the pain, but it— it doesn’t come. He knows the way that Gable’s fire burns, but there’s none of that here. The fire weaves its way from the hilt around his fingers and up his wrist, and it just feels warm as sunshine. 

There’s no way he should be able to lift it. But he does. He grips it with both hands and turns to swing it towards the other angel. It moves back, radiating shock. That feels good. Travis likes having shocked it, made it reconsider something. 

“Do you want to hear mine?” he says. “All my sins? I’ll tell you. I’ve been alive such a very, very long time.” 

“I can see your sin, mortal,” it says. “It follows you. You will never escape it.” 

“Then I guess this counts as confession,” Travis says, because the angel is looking at him, and for every second it’s looking at him, it’s not looking at Gable. Gable makes a noise like someone punched them in the stomach at his words, and he really, really wishes they would shut up. 

“Enough,” the angel says. “You will not prevent judgement. It is our lord’s will.” 

“I thought your lord was dead,” Travis says, and swings Gable’s sword. 

— 

He isn’t trying to win. He knows he can’t win. He’s just trying to— well, maybe he’s just doing what he always does. Trying to make sure that he dies by Gable’s side. They certainly don’t make it easy. 

He can’t fight an angel in it’s true form, especially not when the sheer entropy of divine justice is on it’s side, bearing down on them like the wretched sea, but he doesn’t care. Gable’s done so many bad things, and so has he, and Travis doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t expect the trees. He almost doesn’t notice the Matriarch of the Wood listening, the Green Lady, the Forest Queen— there are roots curling up, breaking up cobblestones and tearing through brick walls. The stinging smoke lessens, replaced by the heavy, damp scent of the forest. 

The angel looks around, and Travis can feel it’s confusion. It’s never encountered this power before here, so used to being the most domineering creature, having the highest ground. Travis may be just a mortal, but he isn’t helpless anymore. 

“Uriel,” it spits, “The love of a mortal cannot save you forever. One day, you _will_ be ours.” 

“My name,” Gable says, through teeth gritted with pain, clutching their ribs, “Is _Gable.”_

The vines curl closer, the woods rising in time with Travis’s breathing. They twist around the broken tatters of the mortal form of this avenging angel and hold it, fast. He knows there’s a chance that Gable will never forgive him for this. He knows that part of them believes that they deserve their judgement, and maybe they’re right. Maybe they do deserve this. That doesn’t change what he’s about to do. 

“Everyone dies,” he says, taking slow, steady steps towards the angel, sword gripped so tightly in his hands that it hurts. “But for some stupid fucking reason, where Gable goes, I go.” 

He raises the sword, and plunges it into it’s heart. The scream it gives is so horrifying that Travis drops the sword and staggers back, hands over his ears. The fire of the sword fades away from him as soon as he stops touching it, and suddenly he feels the cold all over again. 

There’s silence, apart from the whisper of the wind in this newgrown forest. 

“Why would you do that?” Gable breathes, behind Travis. He carefully, carefully doesn’t let hurt show on his face. He knew this might happen. He doesn’t regret it. 

He can’t stop shivering. 

“What else was I going to do?” he snaps, turning to look at them. They’ve struggled to their feet, and their eyes are red-rimmed, their face stained with smoke. He feels like he’s going to cry too, which only makes him more inclined to fight. “Let it just… No. Absolutely fucking not.” 

“For _me?”_ Gable says, their voice impossibly quiet. “I did every single thing it accused me of, you know that.” 

Travis suddenly realises what they’re talking about. It’s not that they’re angry and disgusted with him for killing an angel with their own sword. It’s that they don’t understand that he did it— he did it for— 

He swears by the Luminaries, someone is going to kill Gable one of these days, and it is _going_ to be him. 

“I hate you,” he says, and Gable flinches. Why do they always end up here, hurting each other with their own feelings? Why can’t they just— is love that broken? Travis doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“I’m going to go,” they mutter, moving forward to reach for their sword. Travis catches their hand as they pass, on instinct, in panic. They look at him, their clasped hands between them. 

“I don’t care,” Travis blurts. “I don’t care what we’ve done as long as we’re here. Maybe that makes me a bad person. I don’t know, I’m no _angel,_ but I don’t care. Okay?” 

“Oh,” Gable says softly. “Oh, _Travis—”_

“Shut up,” he says, and lets them pull him into their arms. For the first time since dropping their sword, he feels warm again. Despite everything, Gable’s embrace feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as [drowninginstarlights!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drowninginstarlights)


End file.
